


Somebody To Save

by BottleRedRosie



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 15:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14047536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BottleRedRosie/pseuds/BottleRedRosie
Summary: There's a child in danger, but Jiya doesn't know when they are or how to save them.  Spoilers up to 2.2.  Vague threats to minors.  Oneshot.





	Somebody To Save

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: T  
> Words: 2,100  
> Spoilers: Up to 2.2.  
> Warnings: Vague threats to minors.  
> Summary: There's a child in danger, but Jiya doesn't know when they are or how to save them.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
> A/N: The result of 2.2 and a plot bunny that wouldn't go away.

** SOMEBODY TO SAVE **

_“Your kid’s real pretty.”_

_The trailer smelled like hot metal and sweat and booze and men._

_And sweaty, boozy men._

_Her peripheral vision couldn't pick out any details, other than a single curl of cigarette smoke spiraling up into a dark infinity above her head._

_She was sitting._

_Or crouching._

_Or very small._

_And a large hand was reaching towards her face._

“Jiya?  _Jiya!_ ”

She blinked.

Rufus hovered above her, swimming in and out of her vision as the colors rebalanced and the darkness faded out to a muted glow.

Skylights.

He reached his hand toward her and she flinched.

“Jiya?”

His arm was bandaged where he'd burned it in 1955.

Where she'd seen him burn it.

In 2018.

She blinked.  Closed her eyes.  Tried to remember where she was, and more importantly _when_ she was.

Rufus swallowed.  “Where did you go this time?”

He knew.  Rufus knew what was happening.  Just as she knew, despite all of her denials and her protests to the contrary.

“I don't know,” she admitted softly, trying to remember where she'd been.  “Trailer,” she added at length.  “A man who smelled like cigarettes and cheap booze.”  She thought about that some more.  “Maybe two men.”

Rufus nodded slowly, gently perching himself on the edge of her bunk.  “Did they…” he began hesitantly, swallowing again.  “Did they...hurt you?”

Jiya shook her head.  “Wasn't me,” she replied softly.  “I think...I think maybe it was a child.  I was a child.  Or maybe _with_ a child?  I was seeing it all from a child’s perspective.”

“Do you know who?”

Jiya shook her head.  “One of the men said the kid was pretty.”

Rufus’ lips compressed into a thin line and he inclined his head.  “Was she in trouble?  The child?”

Jiya shrugged.  “Don't know.  But I think...I think maybe I knew her.  Know her.  Something felt...familiar.”

Rufus nodded again.  “Maybe this is happening for a reason,” he said.  “Maybe we’re supposed to save somebody.”

Jiya wasn't sure that was what this was.

She wasn't sure it was a “gift,” as Rufus kept insisting.

She wasn't sure she was supposed to _do_ anything with it.

She was just traveling.  The way Rufus traveled.  Through time.

But maybe without a time machine.

She didn't know if she'd really been in that trailer.

If she'd really smelled it.  Felt it.  Heard the guy speaking.

Sometimes it felt like she was watching a movie.  A movie of someone else’s life.

Other times, she felt like she was _there_.

 _Really_ there.

She sat up abruptly, and Rufus startled.

“I need to find her.”

* * *

“A trailer?” Lucy repeated, glancing up from the tablet she'd been using for the past few days to try and determine how many changes, if any, Rittenhouse had made to the history they remembered.  She shook her head.  “No.  My mom had a summer house where we went sometimes.  By a lake.  But no trailer.”

Jiya nodded.

It hadn't felt like Lucy.

The fear she'd felt had been raw and real.  That child had been physically harmed before and was waiting for more of the same.

Despite everything, Jiya didn't believe Carol Preston had ever been abusive towards her daughter.  From what Lucy had told her, the mother she remembered, the one from the timeline where Amy existed and Carol had been sick, had been loving and attentive, if a little bit pushy and strict.

“What did you see?” Lucy asked, leaning forward.

Jiya shrugged.  “Probably nothing,” she said.  “Probably just a stupid dream…”

_“Your kid’s real pretty.”_

_The large hand stroked her cheekbone hesitantly and she could see nicotine stains embedded in the creases in his fingers._

_He smelled like days old sweat and his fingers felt rough on her cheek._

_She sensed movement behind him, a shadow moving in the shadows._

_“Can I?  I got money.”_

“Hey!  _Hey!_ Jiya!  You with me?”

She was in Lucy’s arms, her head resting in her lap.

She was wearing sweatpants.

They didn't look right on her somehow.

“Hey,” Jiya returned slowly.  “When did everything get...horizontal?”

Lucy smiled weakly at her.  “You passed out.  Again.”

“It's nothing,” Jiya insisted.  “Cabin fever.  Cooped up in here all the time.  Need some fresh air is all.  Maybe you could take me for a spin in the Lifeboat sometime?”

Lucy chuckled.  “If it was up to Rufus you would never get within a mile of that thing ever again.”

“It's not up to Rufus,” Jiya insisted, slowly raising herself into a sitting position, Lucy’s hands ghosting at her back.  “He's not the boss of me.”

Lucy smiled lopsidedly.  “Well I'll let you be the one to tell him that…”

* * *

“A trailer?”  Agent Denise Christopher inclined her head slightly.  “Not that I know of.  Why do you ask?”

Jiya shrugged for what felt like the hundredth time that day.  “I just...remembered something,” Jiya stumbled.  “It's nothing.  Really.”

The last thing she needed was for Agent Christopher to find out.  She'd be locked up in some government research facility before she had time to say, “San Diego Comic Con.”

She turned, heading back to the room she was currently sharing with Lucy.

Besides Jiya, Lucy and Denise Christopher were the only other women in the facility.  If it wasn't one of them she was having these weird visions about, then she had to face the possibility she'd been wrong.  The possibility that she had no idea who the child was in her vision.  That she had no idea how to help them.  That she had no idea what to do.

And no idea whether she was meant to _do_ anything.

Or even if she could.

_“Your kid’s real pretty.”_

_His fingers were rough and calloused on her cheek and he smelled of cigarettes and sweat and whiskey._

_And engine oil._

_“Can I?  I got money.”_

_He was wearing coveralls.  Navy blue.  There was a name tag sewn onto his chest, but she couldn't read it, the embroidered lettering indistinct and blurry._

_Something creaked behind him.  Someone moving from foot to foot uncomfortably._

_“C’mon.  Look at those eyes, man.  You gotta let me.”_

_The hand cupped her chin, a thumb running across her lower lip._

_“Real pretty.”_

She was slumped over her keyboard, her face hot but the rest of her sweaty and cold.

She could still feel the guy’s hand on her face.

She looked up at her computer screen.  Tried to gauge the time.  How long she'd been here.

Rufus had said goodnight hours ago.

She glanced at her watch.

2.30am.

She'd been researching missing kids.

Cross referencing any mention of trailers, trailer parks, mechanics.

There were so many hits it was truly terrifying.

If she was supposed to save someone, if her visions were a gift, a tool, a tangible way of helping, then Jiya wasn't sure how.

They sure as hell were opaque.

She needed a detail.  A calendar stuck on the fridge.  A matchbook.  A postcard.  _Anything._

TV psychics always got a clue like that.

Jiya didn't think she was psychic.

She didn't know what she was.

But as she scrolled through the photographs of missing kids on her computer screen, she couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't how she was supposed to help.

It wasn't about her Google-fu.  Her tech savvy.  Her kickass research skills.

Someone needed her help.

Someone she knew.

Someone…

_“Your kid’s real pretty.”_

_The name tag on his chest read, “Woodrow,” and he smelled like sweat, cheap whiskey, even cheaper cigarettes and motor oil._

_“Can I?  I got money.”_

_His hand was rough on her cheek, deceptively gentle but insistent._

_The guy behind him turned away and headed for the door._

_“C’mon.  Look at those eyes.  You gotta let me.”_

_The other guy paused, one hand on the door handle._

_“Real pretty.”_

_A thumb grazed her lower lip, fingers of the other hand stroking her hair._

_The guy behind turned away from the door hesitantly, glanced once in her direction.  Sighed._

_“Takes after his mom.”_

Jiya sat up so fast she hit her head on the curving wall above her bunk.

_Crap._

“Jiya?”  Lucy’s voice was blurred by sleep and darkness.  “You okay?”

“I gotta...I gotta…”

_“Takes after his mom.”_

_“Prettiest eyes.  Your mom have pretty eyes too, sweetheart?”_

_He was stroking her hair as he glanced over his shoulder._

_“God rest her soul.”_

_The guy behind him turned away from the door.  Glanced at Woodrow’s broad shoulders and powerful frame.  At her.  Bit his lip._

_“C’mon, man.  I know you need the money.  No one’s gonna know.”_

“Jiya?  Honey, not that I'm not happy to see you at 3.30 in the morning but…”

“Is Wyatt here?”

Rufus paused.

“Huh?”

“Wyatt.  Is Wyatt here?  Need to speak to him.  Need to speak to him _right now._ ”

“Uh, sweetie, its 3.30am and I don't think Wyatt would appreciate—”

_“Your kid’s real pretty.”_

_“Takes after his mom.”_

_“God rest her soul.”_

_“I know you need the money.  No one’s gonna know.”_

“Jiya?  You okay?”

He'd apologized for snapping at her when she'd walked in on him in the shower room.

She got it.  Why he was upset.  Totally understood.

But he shouldn't have snapped at her when she was just trying to see if he was okay.

She needed to make sure he was okay.

“Jiya?  You okay?”

He was leaning on the door frame at Rufus’ shoulder, his hair rumpled from sleep.

“No, no!  Are _you_ okay?”

_“Your mom have pretty eyes too, sweetheart?”_

_He was stroking her hair._

His hair.

Wyatt’s hair.

“Did he?  I didn't see it all.  Did he let him?”

Wyatt blinked at her.  “Huh?  Did who let who do what to who?”

“Whom,” Rufus corrected him, and they glanced sideways at each other.

“Can't stop seeing it.  Can feel him touching me.  You.  It's.  Don’t wanna.  Don’t…”

_“C’mon, man.  I know you need the money.  No one’s gonna know.  I won't leave bruises.  Fifty bucks.  C’mon.  Fifty bucks.  Gotta pay Deacon the money you owe, right?  Or he takes that sweet Chevy?”_

_“So it's my car or my kid?”_

_“C’mon, man.  Don't be like that.  I'm tryin’ to help you out here.  He's real pretty.  No one’s gonna know.”_

_“Don't touch me!”_

Jiya shoved the guy’s hand away from her face and Wyatt withdrew his fingers as if he'd scalded them.

“I'm—I’m sorry,” Wyatt stuttered.  “Didn't mean to startle you.”

Jiya looked up at Woodrow, and Wyatt looked back at her.

“Don't need to apologize,” she told him.  “Not your fault.  Not your fault.  You were just a kid…”

Wyatt glanced over his shoulder at Rufus, frowned slightly, before slipping past him through the doorway, gently sliding his arm around Jiya’s shoulders, and carefully guiding her back down the hallway.

“Let's get you back to your room.”

And Rufus didn't even try to follow.

“Did he let him?”

She stopped and looked at him.  

“Jiya, I'm not sure what—”

At the confusion on his face.  The slowly dawning understanding.

_“No one’s gonna know.”_

_“_ I’ll _know.”_

_There was another hand, another hand pushing Woodrow’s fingers off her face, out of her hair._

_Trying to pull her hair.  Trying to pull her closer._

_Him.  Trying to pull_ him _closer._

 _“I may be a lot of things, but I'm not_ that _.”_

“Jiya?  Are you...are you seeing…?”

_“Get your hands off my kid and get the hell out of my trailer.  Don't ever come back.  And don't even so much as look at him again.  I mean it, man.  I'll kill you.”_

_“C’mon man—”_

“My dad decked him,” Wyatt said softly, a warm presence by her side as he walked her back to her room.  “Think he broke his nose.  Blood everywhere.”  He laughed, but it sounded kind of hollow.  “My dad was a lot of things,” he continued, expression sobering.  “But he wasn't that.”

“I thought...I thought maybe I was supposed to save you.”

Wyatt shrugged.  “Maybe you did,” he said quietly.  “Maybe first time around he...maybe my dad opened the trailer door, walked right on out and left me there.  With him.  I know he thought about it.  For a second.  That was the first time I spoke up for myself.  When I told him to stop.  Maybe you fixed it.  Maybe I remember it the way you fixed it.”

Jiya swallowed.  “I don't think I did anything.”

“Maybe you did, maybe you didn't.  Thanks anyway.”

He pulled her into a brief hug, kissed her on the cheek and turned to go.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, pausing.

Jiya nodded.  “Are you?”

Wyatt shrugged.  “I guess I am now.”

 

**The End**

 

 


End file.
